“Most people don’t stick around,” Harper points out, tone carefully neutral.
“I’m not most fucking people. We’re friends. I don’t care…” I trail off and gesture at him. “You could have leprosy and we’d still be friends. Do you understand?”
“You’re a weirdo.”
“I’m rubber and you’re glue,” I say childishly.
Harper laughs, tired, but he laughs all the same. “I didn’t have seizures for a few years. Everything was great.” Harper keeps his gaze averted while he speaks, voice low and tired. His fingers curl into the loose shirt at his abdomen, playing with the material over and over. A nervous habit I’ve noticed. “The manufacturers likely switched an ingredient in my medicine and I started having seizures again. We’ve tried a bunch of different new medicines but… they’re still happening. I’ve had epilepsy since I was a kid.”
“I want to make sure I get the terminology correct… is it a disease? Disorder? Condition?”
Harper looks at me oddly, before releasing a small stilted breath. “It’s a brain disorder. Most people can control it with medicine. I did for years. But it’s taking some figuring out to get my medicine adjusted again. I thought this new medicine was doing great… but then today happened.” He lets out a bitter, angry laugh. “I hate people seeing me after one. I feel so useless.” Harper presses his fingers to his temple hard, and squeezes his eyes shut. “I just for once want to be normal… want to not be this way.”
“Normal is boring,” I point out. “I played NCAA basketball. I had exactly one game in the NBA before I blew my knee out. We all have stories, adjustments we make to our life. But your adjustment is no worse than anyone else's. So you can’t do certain things? I don’t care. I care more that you feel like there’s something wrong with you. You’re funny, beautiful, kind. I watched you with Savannah the other night and that littlegirl adores you. I don’t think one single person thinks you’re useless.”
Harper’s mouth parts on a silent gasp halfway through my monologue. His eyes glow in the dark, a bright, vivid green. He really is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I’ve never wanted someone so badly.
“You really think I’m beautiful?”
I nod slowly, needing him to truly know. “Stunning.”
“I’m sorry about your knee,” Harper murmurs quietly.
“Eh.” I shrug with a smile, hoping to ease his worries a little further. “Dreams can change.”
“Yeah,” Harper agrees, eyes distant.
“Do you want me to stay the night?” I wish he’d say yes, but I know he won’t.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you for helping. For not leaving.”
Suddenly, I’m less concerned with how he feels, and more concerned with murdering whoever made him feel this way. Who ever left him? Who made him feel like such a damn burden?
“Do you still have my number?” I ask as I unfold from the bed.
Harper flushes bright crimson even in the shadowed bedroom. Interesting. “Yes, it’s in my phone.”
“I told you to text me. I’ll worry if you don’t. Alright?”
Harper nods instead of answering verbally. Impulsively, I lean over and press a dry kiss to his forehead. He leans into my touch with a dreamy sigh that goes straight to my rapidly falling heart. I press my cheek against the top of his head for just a moment, before leaving the room and Harper behind. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from him. Locking the front door behind me, I head home in the late glow of dusk.
When I get home there’s a text from a number I don’t know.
Unknown
Thank you. BTW, your swing kind of sucks. You should work on it. Also, Honey says goodnight.
Attached isa photo of Honey curled tightly against Harper’s side. A small, shy smile tilts Harper’s lip up, and he’s wearing a baggy hoodie. I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life. I instantly save the photo to my camera roll, even going as far as marking it as a favorite. Harper’s such a little shit. He’s perfect.
7
HARPER
Good thing I can’t die from embarrassment. Close though. But it bled into some type of easy peace as Jackson tightly curled himself around me, as if it was possible for him to protect me from my own rotten brain. No one has ever made me feel so safe. Just for one single moment nothing else mattered except for the strength of Jackson’s arms shielding me from the world. Everything was hush-quiet in the cage of his arms, even my usually constantly thumping anxiety.
But then he left, and loneliness again invaded every corner of my life.
Lonely and useless and why is the medicine not working anymore? Something has to give. I don’t remember life before epilepsy. Sometimes it’s just as part of me as breathing. Usually, I try to handle it with a level of grace, of levity, that people have the option to forget.
